Fear Has a Name: A Novel (22 page)

Jack dialed her parents’ house again.

He didn’t care if he was a nuisance.

He just needed to know his baby was safe.

29

Granger’s mind was blown.
Blown.

Here he was, flying down the interstate with Pamela by his side—
Pamela Wagner
. He’d basically kidnapped her. But think about it, she had actually driven by
his
house
. Granger Meade’s house!
Why would she do that if she hadn’t been thinking about him? There was something there. She might not be acting like it now. Of course she was distraught. But there was something there.

He hoped she was almost done crying. It was tapering off, as the enormous sobs and gasps from earlier now turned to sniffles and quick, jerky breaths. She’d fought with everything she had back there, just like the night on the bridge—kicking, clawing, screaming, hitting; like a tornado. And Granger had a heck of a time dragging her up that hill and had the scratches to prove it. When he first got her in the car, he was sweating like a pig. He didn’t see how Pamela could possibly be cold, but her teeth were chattering.

His mother was dead, at the hand of his father, and Granger would be blamed for it. His prints were on the gun. Sure, his father’s were too. But Granger was the fugitive. He was the black sheep. His psycho father had planned to blame it on him, and the sentence would come down on him—
if
they caught him. But he didn’t plan on letting that happen. No way was he going to prison.

Never.

He only wished he’d gotten one of Father’s guns.

He couldn’t believe his mother didn’t exist anymore. He would never interact with her again, never again cower before her and suffer the wounds from her nasty, belittling words. It was like a heavy net had been lifted from his life. But it was also weird. She was his mother. She’d carried him in her womb. They were connected genetically. Now those ties were severed.

He was glad he hadn’t seen the shot. How gross it must’ve been—everything splattered all over the place. Once it had clicked in his mind what Father was about to do, Granger had bolted. He’d been on the steps leading down to the garage when the sound of the gunshot seemed to erupt in his own chest. He couldn’t remember if he screamed or if he just imagined that part. How could his father have done it? They were sick people.

As far as Granger knew, Father had simply waited for the police to arrive, amid all that gore, and blamed it on Granger.

Imagine the manhunt now.

Granger was driving south with an ultimate destination in the back of his mind—someplace of which Pamela would assuredly approve. But it was far, far off; he would have time later to zero in on specific directions. For now he knew he couldn’t spend a lot of time on the freeways, so his plan was to get on and off, use back roads, distance himself as much as possible from that house.

“This isn’t your car.” Pamela was shivering and slouched and did not make eye contact.

“Had to make a change.” Granger looked over at her.

Goose bumps covered Pamela’s tightly crossed arms. She wore a plain black short-sleeved shirt and jeans, the low-cut kind, with a thick black belt and flimsy black shoes that looked like slippers; they were dirty from trudging up that hill. Her blonde hair was fluffy, soft, and short, and she had on dark lipstick. That lovely mouth …

Granger had found her one of those mini tissue packets in the glove compartment, and she’d gone through almost the whole thing. The used tissues were strewn on the seat and floor, and several new crumpled ones were wadded in her fist.

“Where are you going?” she said.

“
We
, where are
we
going.” Granger laughed. “Driving for a while. We’re going to get caught up. Just you and me. Like old times.”

Keeping her shaking arms crossed, Pamela wiped her eyes and nose with the tissues as she carefully watched every sign and landmark. “I need to call my husband,” she whimpered. “Do you have a phone?”

“Don’t you have one?” Not that he planned on letting her use it.

Her face and mouth and eyes scrunched as if she’d just eaten a lemon. “No.”

“You want a blast of heat?” Granger turned the heater to low. “This’ll make you feel better.”

“I need to call him.” She looked sideways at Granger with those gorgeous watery eyes. “Please. Then we can get caught up all you want. They need to know I’m okay.”

Granger didn’t like it that she was so focused on
them
, on easing
their
minds and returning to
that
life. It made him feel temporary. Like he was just some stupid obstacle whom she would falsely pacify, toss aside, then get back to what really mattered.

“I am safe,” she said, “right?”

Jack pulled into Wendy’s driveway and parked behind a sleek white Mercedes, which he figured must belong to Sherry Pendergrass. He had just hung up the phone after talking with Faye and Rebecca, who were having the time of their lives listening to PawPaw read stories and playing games with him.

“What about MawMaw?” Jack had asked.

“She’s in her room,” Rebecca said. “We haven’t heard a peep out of her.”

“Yes, and the door is bolted locked and she won’t come out,” Faye chimed in.

Jack blocked Margaret out of his mind, grabbed his camera and notes, knocked at Wendy’s front door, and waited. After quite a pause, he heard Wendy call for him to come in.

He saw himself into the room where he had met her several days earlier. It was dark and quiet now, and he could immediately sense that the two women had been deep in a conversation that was probably both awkward and highly emotional. There weren’t tears, but the tension was palpable.

The two ladies stood. Wendy introduced Sherry, who was almost as tall as Jack. She was tan and striking in white shorts and sandals, a shiny silver top, and a light sweater—with lots of silver jewelry. Jack guessed she was in her late forties, but she looked more like thirty. Her skin and the firmness of her body radiated good health, and she had the broad shoulders of a swimmer. She seemed meek as she shook Jack’s hand and quietly said his name.

When they all sat down, Wendy and Sherry were positioned in chairs that angled toward one another. Wendy took the lead in a businesslike way, explaining to Sherry that Jack had become a fast friend and partner in her search for Evan. Then, just above her emotions, Wendy explained to Jack that Sherry had offered to let Evan use a cabin in Springfield that she and her former husband owned.

“I knew Evan was under a lot of stress,” Sherry chimed in. “That’s why I offered him the cabin—a private place where he could go to sort things out.”

Wendy’s body stiffened. She crossed her arms and peered outside.

“I’ve been frank with Wendy,” Sherry said to Jack. “My motives were wrong; they were impure. After all of the weeks we spent in counseling, I began to have feelings for Evan. The day he went missing, I drove up to meet him at the cabin—to let him in, show him where everything was and, well …” She reached over and touched Wendy’s arm. “Let me make it clear again—Evan wanted nothing to do with me. He was in despair, but he made it clear—you will always be the only one for him, Wendy.”

Wendy turned slowly and stared into Sherry’s eyes, her mouth a slit.

Sherry continued, admitting she stayed on at the cabin that day but that her presence added even more guilt to Evan’s already frazzled state of mind.

“He became terribly distraught,” Sherry said. “And he was very upset with me, that I had … tried to be more than friends.”

“How long did you stay?” Jack said.

“I was in and out the first several days he was there,” Sherry said. “Really, I was just checking in to make sure he was okay, trying to get him to eat something. He didn’t feel well. His stomach was terribly upset. I thought it might be an ulcer or something. He was sleeping a lot—day and night.”

Jack wondered if Sherry knew about Evan’s antidepressants, the suicide note, or the gun, but he wasn’t about to bring those things up if Wendy wasn’t.

“He kept saying it was too late to turn back,” Sherry said. “He was tortured inside. But it was his … goodness …” Sherry dropped her head, took a deep breath, and looked up again. “It was his desire to be right before God that shocked me back to reality.” She snatched a tissue from her purse and patted her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Wendy; so, so sorry. And I don’t expect your forgiveness, that’s not why I’m here. I just want to help you, and help Evan.”

Wendy frowned and fought back tears, her head shaking ever so slightly.

“I found these tucked inside my front door.” Sherry pulled an envelope from her purse, opened it, and produced a handful of photographs. “Someone followed Evan and me to the cabin. They took these pictures.”

The photos showed Evan and Sherry walking side by side on a dirt path in the woods, sitting close to each other on a porch, sharing a meal …

“I can assure you we were not intimate,” Sherry said. “We were both just trying to figure out how we got into this mess and where we were going to go from there.”

Amazingly, it sounded to Jack as if Sherry were telling the truth—that Evan had not wanted her there. In fact, if Evan had already been suffering from life-threatening depression, Sherry’s presence and the guilt that came with it might have indeed been the nail in his coffin.

Wendy’s eyes were tired, and Jack noticed creases in her pretty face he hadn’t seen before. She quietly examined each photo, tucking one behind, moving another into view. Jack waited for Sherry to continue.

“I got a call late this morning,” Sherry said. “It’s blackmail.”

“What do they want?” Jack said, feeling like some kind of legal representation for Wendy.

“Three hundred thousand dollars,” Sherry said, “wired to a foreign account.”

“And if you do it?” Jack said.

“I know it’s not true, but he said the original digital photos will be destroyed.”

“Right,” Jack said sarcastically. “And you’ll never hear from them again.”

“By paying the money he said my name would be protected, and Evan’s too.”

“Evan’s name is already ruined!” Wendy said.

“Who could have known you were going to meet Evan in Springfield that day?” Jack said. “The exact time and place?”

Sherry’s eyes closed and she inhaled deeply, shoulders back, holding in a chest full of air—then she opened her eyes and let it out. “This is Andrew Satterfield’s doing,” she blurted. “I think he was having Evan followed. To what end? I’m not sure.” She looked directly into Jack’s eyes. “I’ve come to believe Satterfield is capable of anything—I mean
anything
.”

30

Pamela was still struggling desperately to calm herself. They were on a wide-open two-lane back road, driving at a good clip. The sun was arching toward her right, west, so she figured they were heading south.

Be still. Know he is God.

Granger smoked with his window down four inches. His whole body had smelled like a mixture of old cigarettes and body odor when he had manhandled her, wrenching her in those viselike arms and forcing her up the hill into the car.

He was a huge man, a husky, immovable mass in that driver’s seat. His head and neck were enormous, as were his arms, which, thanks to her, looked like a cat’s scratching post. As Pamela recalled from high school, his nose was hooked and his eyes were small and shifty. He wore the same black clothes. Several spots of what looked like tomato sauce dotted the front of his black T-shirt.

At least he was a good driver.

Funny, the things you thought of when you were kidnapped.

“There goes a Smoky.” Granger watched the gray-blue-orange cruiser go north in his rearview mirror. “Right past us. How do you like that?”

He was constantly eyeing the rearview and side mirrors.

He must’ve stolen the car. She wondered if he had hurt or killed someone to get it.

Did he have a gun?

She didn’t see one.

What happened back at his house?

Dare she ask? Would it send him into a rage?

Would he hurt her? Rape her? Leave her dead somewhere, not to be found for months?

She’d heard of cases where the psycho male didn’t want anyone else to have the woman, so he would kill her, then take his own life. That would leave Jack alone to raise the girls. Thank God they had life insurance; her policy was smaller than Jack’s, but they’d made it just substantial enough to allow Jack to get a full-time nanny and give the girls a good education.

They had hoped to have at least one more child—probably more.

Would Jack remarry?

The needle on the gas gauge showed they were below a quarter of a tank; they would have to stop soon. She had to go to the bathroom and he would have to go too. Could she quietly tell someone in the restroom she’d been kidnapped? Should she try to run? Beg the mercy of anyone near them?

Would he let her call Jack from a pay phone? If so, perhaps she should not try to escape but ride it out.

Was he planning to drive all night? Where were they going?

All Pamela could decipher for certain was that he was set on heading south.

“Old Jackie boy’s gonna be worried.” Granger took a hit of the cigarette—which was burning almost down to his fat fingers—and breathed the smoke swirling out the window.

“Yes,” she said. “He is.”

A large maroon Bible sat on the floor at her feet amid a bunch of used tissues; she wondered what on earth it was doing there.

As the silent minutes ticked past, Pamela was getting the feeling she needed to revert back to her youth. She needed to get her mind off herself, the fright, the turmoil, and get to a place mentally where she could treat Granger as she had when they were kids—friendly, outgoing, encouraging, nonchalant, fun.

But there was no way she could do it.

She’d barely said a word and was stiff as a board, not wanting to move, feeling locked to the seat. Her body was tense to the core and everything in her was burning with fear—every organ from her chest to her stomach to her bowels felt as if it was being wrung out like flaming hot rags.

Now she had a taste of what her mother had experienced.

That Scripture came to mind, of Jesus telling his followers, “Don’t worry about what you’ll say—my Spirit will provide the words.”

She reached for the Bible on the floor. “Do you read this?” she managed, her hands trembling.

He pitched the butt out the window, rolled it up, and eyed her. “I don’t know what that’s doing here.”

“It’s not yours?”

“Huh uh.”

It was like new. She opened it, turned several pages, and found an inscription in bold, slanted handwriting.

Dear Mother,

I know how much the words in here mean to you. I hope you will use and enjoy this for many years to come.

With love from your son,

Granger

“You got this for your mom?” Pamela said.

Granger looked straight ahead and nodded.

“If you got it for her, why do you have it?”

“I didn’t mean to take it,” he said. “It was just in my hands when I left.”

Pamela racked her brain, trying to come up with the right thing to say. Having heard the shot, asking Granger if his parents were both still alive after all these years, or how they were doing, didn’t seem the smartest approach.

“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” She held her breath and stroked the soft, thin pages of the Bible.

“No matter what anyone says, or what you hear, I’m no killer.” He looked over at her. “Will you believe that?”

Oh, Lord, they were dead. Or at least one of them was.

But his eyes seemed innocent, virtually harmless. She searched them for darkness and evil but saw only sorrow and dejection.

“I’ll be honest,” she said. “I don’t know what to believe. You’ve put my family through hell.”

“I don’t want to talk about your family!”

So much for harmless.

“This is
our
time,” he snapped. “Probably our
last
time. And I refuse to waste it talking about your
other
life.”

“Let’s talk about you then.” She forced herself to stand up to him, to sound upbeat. “Do you still enjoy music? The trombone?”

“No.” His small mouth shrank, and he shook his head. “I don’t have it anymore.”

“Well, where have you lived all these years?” Pamela heard the quiver in her own voice. “What have you been doing for work?”

He looked at her, silent for a moment. “I’ve lived around Ohio, different spots. Favorite job, I know it doesn’t sound like much, was running a putt-putt course in Geauga Lake. It was basically mine. Cleaned it. Took care of all the repairs. Waited on customers. Real family-oriented joint.”

“That sounds really good,” she managed, still trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “How long did you do that?”

“Two and a half years. It was rewarding, because you felt like you were providing something nice for families. That was about the best I’ve ever been.”

“What happened to that?”

He sighed. “One night a big group a teenagers showed up. Couple big shots in the crowd—football players. Acting crazy. Messing with the windmill. Cussing around families.” Granger stared at the road in front of him, as if he was reliving it in his mind. “I warned them once. Then it just got worse.” He looked at Pamela and shook his head. “I liked that job.”

“What happened?”

“I kicked them out. That’s what the owner told me to do if anyone got unruly, and they were. I mean, they were getting obscene in front of these families …”

“And?”

“The guys were waiting for me in the parking lot when I closed. Told me I’d made ’em look bad in front of their girls. They’d been drinking. One of them had a bat. What was I supposed to do?” He pounded the steering wheel. “Let them abuse me like they did in school? Let them bash my skull in? I wrung their scrawny necks is what I did. The ringleader ended up in the hospital with broken ribs. That was the end of the job.”

They rode in silence.

Every now and then, Pamela could sense him studying her.

She would not be afraid.

She would heave it all at God’s feet and trust.

This was
his
will. She was meant to play this part.

“It helps to talk,” he finally said. “I’ve never had that.”

“It does help. We all need friends.”

She wanted to give him hope, suggest he get involved in a church where people would love him and accept him for who he was; but who knew what he had done back at that house? And all the things he’d done to her—including kidnapping.

Maybe if she could get him to turn himself in, she and Jack could drop the charges—he could start over. But the odds were so against him. His whole life was marred. He would likely never change. That was the hard truth.

But God
could
change him. After all, why was she there, riding next to him in that car? Why had he been so obsessed with her all those years?

Pamela leafed through the Bible and found one of her favorite verses. “‘Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you,’” she said, feeling an incredible sense of rightness about reading the words aloud. “‘I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.’”

As they rode on into the waning afternoon, Pamela silently prayed those words and asked that such supernatural peace would permeate Granger’s soul—and hers.

“We’re stopping up here,” Granger announced.

He took exit 6, a town called Selby, but Pam wasn’t sure if they were still in Ohio or in West Virginia. Once off the exit, he headed right. Soon he flicked the blinker and the car slowed as it approached a convenience store and gas station. There were a few cars in the parking lot—and a vacant pay phone.

“I’m gonna let you make one call,” Granger said, “but I’m gonna be right there. All you’re gonna say is, ‘I am okay. The more people who try to find me, the worse danger I’m in.’ That’s it. No more, no less.”

“Thank you.” Pamela’s insides raced. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re staying in the car while I fill the tank.” He eased the car up to one of the pumps, put it in park, and turned it off. “After I fill it, we’re pulling up to the store and going in, arms linked, like a nice happy couple. We’re sharing a restroom. We’re getting some food. We’re back on the road.”

Granger opened his door, and the car rocked as he got out. Then he bent down and looked back in at Pamela. “Don’t say a word to anyone.” He patted his waist beneath his T-shirt where a gun might be tucked. “Not one word.”

Jack checked his phone again: nothing. A heavy mass of dread sat hard in the pit of his stomach. He had done all he could—phoned Pam’s parents and let DeVry know he hadn’t heard from her and was worried. Beyond that, he was helpless. If he didn’t hear from her soon, he would throw some things in an overnight bag and drive up there. Then, if she did call, he could always turn around and come home.

As the tense meeting with Wendy and Sherry continued to unfold, Sherry told them that Evan believed Satterfield and the two elders were purposefully attempting to railroad him out of the pulpit, and would stoop to doing anything to achieve their goal. Evan realized Satterfield paid more than a colleague’s natural attention to the senior pastor’s schedule and activities and had even once caught Satterfield snooping through his files.

“But you know Evan,” Sherry said. “He always gives people the benefit of the doubt.”

Jack saw Wendy wince at the other woman’s implied knowledge of
her
husband and was about to redirect the conversation when Sherry spoke again.

“There was more going on than just some kind of professional jealousy or a personal vendetta. Evan suspected Satterfield and two elders of skimming money from the church.”

That aligned with what Hank Garbenger had said. Jack rifled through his notes and found the names Hank had given him. “Would those elders be Ryan Seeger and Bruce Trent?”

Sherry nodded.

No wonder she’d stopped giving to the church.

“What I didn’t realize before,” Sherry said, “is that Evan blames himself for allowing those funds to be taken. He was in such a state of depression, he just couldn’t mount any kind of counterattack.” Sherry looked from Wendy to Jack. “You know he’d stopped taking his antidepressants?”

Jack nodded.

Wendy deflated and settled back into a silent daze. It was obvious she felt even further wounded by the personal things Evan had confided in Sherry.

“Evan knows he’s called to a higher account, being the pastor,” Sherry said. “He feels he failed because he let all this happen on his watch, and he was too sick to do anything about it. He had even begun to believe Satterfield was right, that a pastor shouldn’t have to rely on medication.”

Wendy shook her head and covered her mouth.

“Evan was distraught,” Sherry continued, “that he had allowed Satterfield and two of the men under him to be led so far astray. He said he could never prosecute his own elders—”

“The darn elders should know better!” Wendy said. “They have a responsibility to God, not just Evan. This whole thing is sick.” She stood and paced and chewed at a thumbnail.

There was a long silence.

“There’s something else,” Sherry said.

Wendy sat down hard. “What?”

“Satterfield has a rental house on Lake Hudson, and a boat,” Sherry said. “He’s using church funds to pay for both. He justifies it as a second office, a place to study and pray. He makes it look like he lives at the little house he has here in Trenton City, but he spends most of his time at the lake. Evan thinks he’s going to milk the church for as much as he can and disappear—do it all over again someplace else.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Wendy tilted her head in wonder and peered at Jack.